Linear Nonthreshold
by CreedsGalBirdy
Summary: Exile was not his punishment. Love was.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N**: You will not enjoy this. That is your only warning_.

Linear Nonthreshold

Chapter 1

* * *

Loki blinked, letting his eyes adjust to the dim light of the room. A pale glow seeped in from under the door, keeping the cold dark away and creating only a few shadows in the sparse space. The quiet beeping lullaby still played softly, its melody ever-present. He rubbed the tired from his eyes and stood, letting his muscles stretch, having been too long in the vinyl padded lounger. He walked to the window, his eyes following the flashes of lightning that peppered the night sky, coloring the invisible clouds lavender. A storm had already come and gone; perhaps another was brewing in the distance? Loki sighed a breath and returned to his place next to the sleeping figure.

Darcy's hand was warm and soft in his and he let his fingers memorize every detail of the skin there. A small pinch knitted his brow at the sight of the plastic tubing that looped and trailed up to the head of the bed. He couldn't stay mad at it long. He was selfish and it kept her here with him for just a little longer. A fingertip smoothed over her fingernails, the glittered green still fresh and unchipped, a sign of his meticulous perfection.

Loki's eyes caught movement from the slit of light under the door. A shadow was stopped and lingering. Had they come to disturb the still of the room again? As they so often did every few hours. When the door opened, he knew _they_ had not.

Midgardian in attire but Asgardian in posture, Thor Odinson blocked nearly as much light as the closed door had, but what light he did not block poured into every crevasse of the small room and Loki squinted at the intrusion. The first born prince looked to his exiled brother, then to the very mortal form tucked in the bed beside him. When Thor spoke, Loki felt as if the air had been pulled from his lungs. He wanted to rage against his brother's words. Instead, he calmly stood and called for a nurse. Tonight would be Darcy's last night in a hospital. He was taking her home.

* * *

_**Author's Note:** Just to let everyone know, this will be a multi-chapter story. I'm taking some creative license with the content but mixing that with personal experiences and professional knowledge. As always, feel free to leave a comment or PM me._


	2. Chapter 2

Five years. Five years of exile from Asgard. Five years of traveling the other realms. Five years of visiting Midgard.

And five years of Darcy Lewis.

Loki could think of worse punishment. Being pinned between a door and a drunk and sexually aggressive Darcy was certainly not one of them. She could not be more beautiful. Those big blue eyes were determined, albeit a little glassy. Her lips, flushed pink, were swollen from being crushed by his. Both of them fumbled with the others' clothing. Magic was forbidden. She said it took away all the fun, the anticipation, of stripping each other bare. Miraculously, they made it to the bed and finally on his back, he let her drive. He let her squeeze and scratch and grind and rub. His fingers pressed into the milky white of her hips, holding her against him as she rocked back and forth. She was hypnotizing him. He would not last long and he didn't care. He thrust up just a little, releasing into her. He didn't want her to stop. He could finish out his days like this; under her and satisfied. Her breathing hitched and she gripped him tight, a religious exclamation on her lips. No doubt Midgardian's were referring to another god when they said it, and so often did they say it. But this time, from her mouth, it was only for him. He would always be _her _god.

She hummed as she stretched down over him, heart pounding and slick with sweat. Loki wrapped himself around her. Yes, this was no punishment.

* * *

He found Darcy retching into the toilet the next morning. He handed her a glass of water from the sink and wrung out a washcloth for her. She pillowed her head on her arms, leaning on the cool, porcelain bowl. She asked if she looked as shitty as she felt. Loki kissed the damp skin of her temple and told her she was radiant. He sat there on the floor with her for a few minutes and she made him promise to never let her drink that much Jager in one sitting ever again. Then she told him to get lost; she didn't want him to see her barfing.

* * *

Three weeks went by and his beautiful Darcy Lewis was showing signs of wear. She hadn't shaken her hangover. She seemed to have recovered easily enough at first, but then it would come back and tear her down for another day or two. Clear fluids and rest, she told him, was all she needed. She just wasn't letting herself get to one-hundred percent before going at life at one-hundred percent.

He had all but dragged her to the emergency room with Darcy pouting most of the way. Once there, she relented. They started a line of fluids and gave her something for the nausea, the pill dissolving on her tongue. She said it tasted like Fruity Pebbles. Loki was certain the rocks on Midgard were inedible and accounted Darcy's comment on whatever little vials were being forced into the tube in her arm. A handful of medical personnel came and went from the room, each with their job to do. It was late in the evening when a doctor came and said he wanted to admit Darcy. Just for the night. Run a few more tests. Get some more fluids in her and find out what all the trouble was about. She shrugged and went along, acquiescing easily. If Darcy wasn't worried, then Loki wouldn't worry.

It was well into the next morning when yet another doctor came to see Darcy. Loki had grown irritable at the varying faces coming and going. Darcy'd had to calm him during the night. He yelled at a nurse for coming into the room every other hour to prod at Darcy. Wasn't this a place to rest and heal? They'd hooked her to more bags of fluid and beeping machines and a band that hummed annoyingly while squeezing her arm. It all seemed so primitive to him. Tests, tests, test. Yet, no results of all these tests had been given. Did they know _anything_? And here was another man of medicine, to throw his two cents in without giving a solution to the problem.

Darcy was attentive, though he knew she'd had little sleep. Her fingers curled around Loki's loosely as the doctor sat, his clipboard resting on his knees. He began repeating information that had been shared with every nurse and doctor since they arrived at the hospital. Loki felt his ire rising again. A gentle squeeze of his hand grounded him. The doctor listed the tests they had run and remarked that Darcy's numbers were abnormal. Loki was having difficulty following. He didn't understand the terminology or the relevance of what the other man was saying. Why couldn't he just speak plainly? Why was she not getting well? What were they going to do about it?

Loki looked to Darcy for interpretation. Had she grown paler, even since last night? She was glued to the doctor's face as he explained the need for more tests, but this time it would be to confirm his suspicions. Again with the strange Midgardian terms. Loki didn't want to let on that he didn't know what the doctor was talking about. So he simply waited for the man to finish explaining what further testing was needed and Darcy's first step for treatment. Once the man had left the room, Loki smiled reassuringly at Darcy. The smile she returned was not her usual and Loki's heart twisted. He kissed her hand and promised her everything would be alright, that she would be feeling better in no time; he would say anything to lift the shroud that had suddenly and darkly descended on his sweet Darcy. He kissed her hand again and requested she tell him everything she knew about leukemia and how they could go about getting her well again.


	3. Chapter 3

Loki glanced at his watch again. He sighed in frustration. Didn't they know this was urgent? What on Midgard was taking so long? Darcy told him to chill out, curling her hand around his wrist. He couldn't understand her calmness. He failed to keep the worry from his face. She smiled, patted his cheek and went back to flipping through her magazine. He was restless. He didn't like being here. In this waiting area with other people that were sick like Darcy was. Looking around he saw it. That sickness. It was on their faces. In their weary eyes. In the dullness of their skin. His Darcy would be like them one day.

He had tried. Tried so hard to take it away. To take the sick out of her. But he wasn't a healer. His magic couldn't go that deep and take out whatever microscopic _thing_ was making her body turn on itself. If only he weren't exiled. He could take her back to Asgard and she could be healed. Back to perfect with hardly the bat of an eyelash. But he _was_ exiled. He was forbidden to call upon Heimdall. Forbidden to return to Asgard until such time as the All Father deemed him worthy to return. Any and all requests would be ignored. And no one on Asgard was allowed to reach out to him without consequences. When he took his leave of Asgard, Loki made it clear to his well-meaning brother to leave him be, let him learn his lesson.

Had he only known.

Now what Loki would not give for someone, anyone, to see this plight and take Darcy to Asgard. Even if he could not see her until his exile was over, it would be a worthy sum to pay to have her well. To have her never need to suffer what was to come. With a quivering chin and shimmering eyes, Darcy explained as much as she could to Loki that first night in the hospital of her newly diagnosed disease. What a fool he had felt then, thinking it was something so simple; to be cured with a few pills and a good night's rest. Once they'd returned home, he'd spent hours researching, knowing with every saved web site that his Darcy had a battle ahead. He swore to her she would not face it alone.

And so they were here now, at Darcy's first chemotherapy session. His irritation was manifesting itself and Darcy, without missing a beat and without looking up from her magazine, let her hand rest on his bouncing knee. He stilled it. A handful of minutes crawled by before Darcy's name was called and they were lead down the clinic's hallway to a private room. The young woman whom they'd followed, and only a handful of years older than Darcy by Loki's estimation, began a routine of simple procedures by obtaining pulse and blood pressure and temperature. Loki, for his part of Darcy's treatment, stood stoically with his arms crossed, looking down at the medical assistant creating no small amount of unease with the young woman.

Darcy quickly saw through Loki's game and glared at him and then motioned with her eyes to a chair in the corner of the small room. A battle of wills was beginning but was soon tampered by Darcy's brows angling down with a scowl. Knowing he would not win, Loki sat in the chair, his arms still crossed and his scrutiny of the medical assistant still apparent.

With all of the necessaries out of the way, the young woman left and an older one took her place. The nurse began the procedure, installing a line in Darcy's arm and with that, the poison that could cure her. Such a gamble these mortals took. Killing themselves from the inside to rebuild anew. When all was set, the nurse left the pair in the small room, the ticking clock filling the quiet.

Darcy, annoyed by any type of silence, began a rambling litany of whatever popped into her mind, doing her best to engage Loki in conversation. He obliged her easily, letting the familiarity of Darcy ease his mind.

When the bag on the IV pole was nearly empty, the nurse came back into the room. She inquired as to how Darcy felt, noting on a clipboard any relevant information. The line was disconnected and a bandage applied. A memorized speech was rattled off and ended with an inquiry; any questions?

And that was the end of it. Loki felt strangely hollow. There was no clear victory on the horizon. Their first salvo had been dispatched. Now they would wait for the return fire.

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_**A/N:**__Not sure how I feel about this chapter. Anyway, thanks for the reviews, alerts and faves. They are always appreciated._


	4. Chapter 4

As soon as Loki turned the key in the deadbolt and the tumblers didn't turn over, he knew. Company. It didn't take them long to wander away from the missions, the assassinating, the covert dealings to find Darcy snuggled up on the couch making her way through her latest chemo session. Loki shifted the bags in his hands so he could close the door and gave a cursory look at who had been brave enough to pay a call. The Spider and the Hawk. Naturally. Not that Loki suspected any of the "superheroes" to find their way to Darcy's one-bedroom apartment to visit with her. Surely, they were busy enough saving the world? What was one girl to them?

No matter that Darcy had been working with SHIELD in some capacity since his brother's banishment from Asgard. That had been nearly seven years ago. Darcy had been an invisible bystander in his vengeance against Thor. Loki had seen her easily enough, in the periphery, standing alongside her friends and the Asgardian Warriors. It bothered him to remember how she was nothing to him then. She didn't even warrant a thought.

And then it all went to pot. After the fall, there was pain, tortured anguish and the hopelessness of _everything;_ until he found a glimmer of something he hadn't felt in so long. She smiled at him when no one else did. She would laugh sometimes at something he said. And one day he found himself smiling and laughing right along with her. After that, the relationship bloomed slowly, each petal opening as they grew closer.

There was a saying, Loki had learned, 'absence makes the heart grow fonder'. The phrase would echo in his head every time he was away from Midgard, off causing minor trouble in some other realm. He was not permitted back into Asgard, so he took up where he could and kept himself entertained. Increasingly, he found himself drawn to Midgard and the girl, though he was reluctant to admit _that_ part of it. Part of his punishment was that he do no harm to the people of Midgard and he kept to that. Most of the time. A small prank here and there, just to remind those heroes that they were still only human and he was a god.

Boredom would seep in and he would end up looking for Darcy. At first he hid himself from her, watching her in her daily tasks. And then one day, he stopped hiding. He was casually leaning against the side of her apartment building, waiting for her to come home from the secretive SHIELD office that he knew to be only blocks away. She rounded the corner, her arms full of everything imaginable, and breezed right past him. She stopped before reaching the stairs and just stood there. He smothered a smile. He could almost hear her brain whirring. She turned to face him and stared for what seemed like forever: a deer in the headlights, as they say. When she finally acknowledged him with that nonchalant "hey" she so often used, he could hear the slight tremor in her voice. After that, it was another tremor he worked to elicit from her.

As the trio sat talking, Loki made his way to the kitchen to unburden his hands. He set the fabric bags that Darcy insisted they use whenever they went shopping on the counter and began pulling out cans of soup and a strange beverage Darcy had requested; a fruit-flavored juice made from reptiles. He readied a pot on the stove in case Darcy felt like eating once the guests were gone. She preferred most food to be cooked on the range now, claiming the instant cooking box on the counter made things taste "microwavey". Finishing his task, he heard the kitchen door whip slightly as it swung open and shut. He half-glanced over his shoulder to see the archer standing across the table from him. He continued to busy himself with putting the groceries in their proper places but acknowledged the marksman's presence.

"Thank you." His quiet words were clipped. He was not used to showing gratitude, especially to mortals. Or rather, any mortal other than Darcy. "I am sure she appreciates your coming to visit."

Barton nodded, folding his arms across his chest. "Yeah, well, she could probably use a few friends right now." He shrugged, "It's nothing."

Loki turned, finished with the groceries, and took a stance similar to Barton's. "Oh, I assure you, it isn't nothing. Not to her." He didn't like the marksman's cavalier attitude. "Her comfort and happiness are paramount to me. Anything that can be done to ease her discomfort is a balm." Hawkeye made a derisive noise and looked away, apparently unconvinced of Loki's sincerity.

"If that were the case, you wouldn't still be here." He stared at the god; a sharp, cutting glare in his eyes.

"I believe the phrase is 'I beg your pardon' but since I am unacquainted with begging, I would ask that you repeat yourself. And don't be shy with your meaning." Loki wasn't about to let the man in front of him play a game of riddles. If he had something to say, then he best be out with it. Loki's patience for any of The Avengers or agents of SHIELD was short at best.

Barton shook his head and huffed a laugh is disbelief.

"You really have no idea, do you?" When Loki just glared at him without answering he continued. "Unfuckingbelievable. And here, I thought you were supposed to be clever."

"Again, speaking plainly would benefit you most. I suggest you take advantage of my offer before you annoy me further." Loki did not like this mortal laughing at him. He got the distinct impression he had also just commented on the god's intelligence, or a lack thereof. His swore no other mortal would die by his hand, but he never agreed to not to make one pay for insolence. He was a superior being, after all. Barton leveled his eyes at Loki, all trace of humor gone.

"It's you," he said. "You're the reason she's sick." Loki balked at the words and the absurd notion that he had caused Darcy's illness. He said as much to the archer.

"I believe you are quite mistaken. The notion itself is ridiculous. One being does not give cancer to another." Loki was scoffing at Barton now, intent on mocking the man for thinking such a thing. The idiot! "I could see where one might conclude that Darcy would succumb to such an illness," Loki's hands waved as he spoke, "had she spent years of her life inside one of your nuclear reactors or lived near some source of radioactive-"

"But she does!" Barton interjected, cutting the God of Mischief off. His voice had taken on a pleading tone, desperate for the god to figure it out. "She does live near one! You!" Loki allowed himself to show his confusion, plainly written on his face.

"What are you…? That's preposterous!" Loki could not grasp what the archer was telling him. How could he make Darcy sick? This illness was not something that was transferred, person to person. It was not an airborne infection and not one acquired by touching the filth of a carrier. It simply happened. Sometimes there was an underlying cause. Loki had thoroughly researched the disease. Children who lived near large electromagnetic fields or those who suffered from the fallout of the mortals' foolish use of chemicals and substances they had only a basic understanding of; these things caused leukemia. Clint shook his head again.

"_Preposterous_? Yeah. You think those four astronauts last year that were bombarded with cosmic radiation causing them to mutate…that's preposterous? You think that meek scientist that gets really pissed off, the one who kicked your sorry ass once upon a time, you think radiation made him _preposterous_?" He stared at the god before ruffling the hair at the back of his head nervously. "When you travel, or teleport or whatever…going off to other worlds or realms…you're picking up radiation. It probably doesn't have any effect on you because you're you. You're more than what we are, you can handle it. But we can't." Barton stopped here. Loki could hear the nervousness in his voice, the quiet shake of it. "And then you come back here and you're with her. You're always. With. HER." The stress in his voice was desperate. Loki was slowly shaking his head, unbelieving.

"No. I don't think you…understand the concept…" He faltered for a response. His gift for words was taking leave of him. "You can't know it's me." The statement was a whisper. The weight of what the other man was telling him was crushing the breath out of him.

"You're probably right," Barton replied with sad sarcasm. "Because the green rage monster that knows all about this kinda thing doesn't know what he's talking about, right?"

Loki looked around the small kitchen, so completely crowded and suffocating. His eyes focused on a spot on the little table where he and Darcy had shared countless meals. The white laminate top was stained with a coffee ring. She had poured him a cup one morning and his long legs had bumped the pedestal, shaking the table. Dark liquid splashed over the rim of the mug. Hands raced to clean the mess with paper napkins but the mark remained. Loki apologized but Darcy just smiled; don't worry about it, she'd said. It's just a table. The stain on the table was blurring and he blinked to make his eyes focus. Lost in such a simple, forgettable moment, Loki didn't realize Barton was still speaking.

"- killing her. Don't you understand?" The archer's face had creased with anger but Loki only shook his head, not wanting to hear anymore from him.

Loki glared hard at him. "I think your visit is over."

Barton was silent, but only for a second. Then he slammed the dining chair he was standing behind into the table, his anger manifesting. "Goddamnit! Are you fucking listening?" He dropped his voice, so the women in the other room wouldn't hear. "You're fucking killing her! She'll never get better if you're around. You're like a goddamn reactor core in meltdown, just leaking radiation."

A fury was building within Loki and he could feel power snaking down his arms, ready to be unleashed against the mortal man who stood across from him. He clenched his fists, holding back the wrath; not trusting himself to be kind in whatever assault could, or would, come from him. Instead, he gave a simple command; "Leave."

But Barton wasn't so easily commanded. "If you stay, she's dead. That's a fact and no amount-"he was cut off as Loki teleported in front of him, his shirt balled in the god's fists pulling him close.

Loki's voice was low but the threat was easily heard. "I said get out." He held the archer for a second, letting the cold harsh violence seep in before releasing him. The mortal swayed, and then pulled his shirt smooth. The span of a heartbeat was eons long and eventually, Barton turned and left the kitchen, the door whipping behind him.

Loki steadied himself, letting the anger and magic dissipate from him. His mind rushed to replay all that the archer had told him. Loki was no dullard but Midgardian science was not his specialty. He'd learned an incredible amount while researching Darcy's illness, but he had not considered the how's and why's of it because her situation did not factor into it. How possible was it, what the archer had said? Did the scientist Banner merely have a theory or was his notion that Loki was the cause of Darcy's cancer based on something more empericle? Loki supposed that Banner would have an inordinate amount of experience was something like that.

A cold shroud of fear wrapped itself around Loki as he stood alone in the tiny kitchen. Absently, he could hear voices in the living room; they were making their good-byes. When the front door opened, Loki went to the kitchen door and watched Darcy's friends leave. Hawkeye looked back at the god through the narrowing slit before pulling the door shut. Loki stood there, his eyes never leaving the direction of the front door. He willed the truth and terror that the pair had brought, away from their home, its contamination already beginning to create a grimy haze over everything. He did not want to let himself consider, even for a moment, that the information shared was possible. If he didn't think about it, it couldn't be true. And he would not think about it when he was around Darcy. Her questioning voice brought him back.

"Everything okay? What was that all about in there?" she asked, a little worry on her brow. She was still wrapped in her glaringly pink comforter, the television volume turned down to permit conversation while game show contestants jumped and cheered in silent joy.

He turned his head to her and smiled, hiding the discord in his heart from her. "Oh, just a difference of opinion," he said, concealing his lie in truth. The look on her face was of doubt so he quickly changed topics, so as not to invite her inquiry. "Hungry?"

Whatever had been there was gone and she smiled, nodding. "Sure. Could you cook it on the stove, though? I don't want it to taste microwavey."

* * *

As Loki rinsed out the plastic pail that Darcy's soup had ended up in twenty minutes after she'd eaten it, his mind ran through the accusations from Barton again. Her friends had never given much approval of their relationship, but they had never needed it. Darcy and Loki did as they pleased, which was mostly pleasing each other, ignoring the stares of everyone else. He considered the probability of what Barton had said.

Later, after Darcy had fallen asleep, exhausted from the few events of the day, Loki sat at the end of the couch; laptop balanced on his thighs, one hand resting on Darcy's covered leg occasionally stroking her through the blanket. The light from the screen illuminated him as the sun set, the familiar blue glow throwing his shadow on the wall. Fear, despair, worry, loss...hurt…settled on him. And then he knew. He knew what Barton was saying could very well be true. Misery fueled new thoughts and directed him to a course he did not want to face.

* * *

_**A/N**_**:**_Many thanks to MJ for the edit help. A few things to note: #1- Darcy's drink of choice was Gatorade. #2 -The title comes from the dose-response relationship of radiation Darcy has gotten from Loki: __Linear__ means that an observed response is directly proportional to the dose, while __Nonthreshold__ assumes that any radiation produces an effect. I don't want to get too heavy into radiation biology, but if you have questions, feel free to PM me._

_Please let me know how you liked this chapter compared to the previous ones. I originally planned to have zero dialogue, kinda as a challenge to myself...but it was getting annoying/difficult to draw the right emotional responses out without talking between characters. _


	5. Chapter 5

Loki rapped on the bathroom door, a hint of confusion in his voice as he asked Darcy if everything was alright. She answered back with a long, drawn out "yeah" and he heard her muttering and making what she often called "noises of disdain". He stood there a moment, debating if he should open the door to see what the matter was or if he should go back to his book that was currently pages-down on the coffee table. His hand hovered a moment above the door knob. Darcy would not take kindly to him barging in, especially after she'd already told him she was in no need of assistance. But the god was unconvinced that everything was as fine as the young woman had said. His suspicion that something was awry was confirmed when a resounding "yuck" echoed off the bathroom walls.

When Loki made it clear that he was coming in and he heard no objection, he opened the door to find Darcy, wrapped in a towel and sitting on the floor next to the tub. Her wet hair clung to the naked skin of her back and shoulders like inky strings, beads of water still rolling downward. She gave him a lop-sided grin before reaching into the tub and pulling out a dark, sodden mass and dropping it into the bathroom's small trashcan.

Darcy looked up at him, her sad little grin smoothly morphing into something more gut-wrenching. The now thin set of her lips, the way her chin dimpled – Loki knew she was fighting hard to keep the tears away. He knelt on the fuzzy blue rug alongside her as she reached up and combed her fingers through her damp hair. Loki watched as a copious amount of the mahogany tendrils left Darcy's scalp as she pulled her hand away.

So, this was it. It was finally happening. The poisons were having their way with her.

Darcy worked to free the tangle of wet hair from her hand and into the trash bin, the stubborn strands clinging to her. She looked to Loki, the blue of her eyes sharpening as the previously oncoming tears abated. She moved her eyes away, looking beyond Loki, to something that had caught her eye.

Turning his head to look over his shoulder, Loki followed Darcy's line of vision to where it settled on a slender pair of shears, sticking out of a vase holding other grooming implements. He raised his brows in question to her. Darcy nodded and went to reach for them even though she was too far away. Loki stilled her with a gentle hand and pulled the shears from the vase, offering them to her handle first.

She shook her head and pushed the scissors back to Loki. She would have him be the one to do it. Not out of fear or self-disgust but out of love and trust. Loki looked down at the gleaming shears; the slim, shiny metal reflecting back at him.

The couple rose and stood in front of the mirror. Darcy picked up a lock of hair and held it out for Loki to cut. He settled the scissor onto his fingers and quickly opened and closed them, testing them, gauging their sharpness. He looked at Darcy, the still-wet strands clinging to her madly, desperate to remain for as long as they could. Their mistress resigned and ready to part with them so easily. Loki smothered the tremble in his hand and with the slide of metal on metal, he separated Darcy from her hair.

It went on like that: Darcy held a lock and Loki would cut. Then she would place the hair on the counter neatly, gently, reverently, before moving onto the next piece. After a time, there was no more to cut and Loki set the shears on the counter next to Darcy's nearly dry, discarded hair.

Darcy took in a breath and let it out before turning to face the mirror. Loki watched her face in the reflection, the sudden smile she had to bravely put on fell, a sudden drop that left Loki feeling weightless. The smallest of tremors in her chin gave her away. This had been a mistake. And so ready to please her, make her happy, to _help_, had made Loki a partner in this crime. He let his hands rest on her shoulders, squeezing gently. Darcy dropped her head down and shook it, trying with all she could to shake away the grim reality she had pushed herself into.

Whipping her head back up released only a few tears, those that had threatened to spill, and she let them fall so they would not take her down. There was no more grimace of pain or frown of regret. There was calm acceptance and Loki felt a lurch in his chest, thankful that this storm had passed, though fearful it could return again.

Reaching up, Darcy ruffled the newly shorn hair, more of it falling away as so did so. The short strands fell silently as she roughly tousled it this way and that, trying to style what was left. Loki advised against the miniature mohawk she had suddenly gelled up, citing that it may not conform with SHIELD's dress code and appearance policy. Raking the hair again, Darcy agreed, though her reasoning was that Tony would simply be jealous she had a more awesome style than he.

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_**A/N:** __ I actually debated A LOT on keeping that last little paragraph in but decided they need a little (very little) cute/happy because next chapter's gonna suck. A HUGE thanks to all of you that have faved/reviewed/followed. It means the world!_


	6. Chapter 6

He thought he had been so clever.

Or had, at the very least, managed to cover all possible outcomes so that this wouldn't cause much heartache. Not that this wasn't going to cause pain. But he wanted to minimize it as best he could. And eventually, she would see that this had all been for the best. The best for her, anyway. Because it was only her that Loki thought about in this.

All of his careful planning, however, went right out the window the moment Darcy walked through the door. She stood there for a moment, the faintest of creases lining her brow, trying to put the puzzle of what lay before her together. Loki walked toward the young woman, slowly, cautiously, his hands up to momentarily halt any words she might have for him. "Now, Darcy," he started, "I don't want you to get the wrong idea-"

"And what idea do you think I've got?" she demanded. The sight of a few cardboard boxes and a suitcase stacked next to the door left little to Darcy's imagination as to what Loki was planning while she had been away at work. The exiled god looked at Darcy, then past her, not wanting those hurt, angry eyes to crack his resolve in this matter. It was the only way, the only thing he could think of to lessen the damage he had done.

"Well? What's this all about, huh?" Darcy dropped her bag on the floor and moved toward the boxes. "You just gonna pack up and go? Leave the sick, little _mortal _to take care of herself, right?"

"No. That isn't it at all. I'm just…" Loki faltered. He could see the crystalline-blue of Darcy's eyes, glassy with salty drops unshed. But they threatened. So very close to the edge. "If I stay," he started, the words escaping him and taking what air was left in him with them, "you will never get better. You will never recover from this," he said, waving a hand in her direction, acknowledging her illness but leaving it unnamed.

Which only worked to anger Darcy further. "And packing up and _leaving_ is the fucking cure I need?!" She slammed a hand on top of one box, denting the cardboard. Her figure was wild and Loki was certain if he spoke or moved, she would charge at him without hesitation, releasing every ounce of pent up anger she'd accumulated over the course of this sickness. She made a good show of enduring but there was a sliver of doubt within him that even she could sustain such bravery. He knew, more than anyone, that everyone had a breaking point. He believed now that he had forced Darcy to hers.

"I only want what is best for you now, darling," he said, continuing on despite Darcy's sputters and growls to the contrary. "There is a great likelihood that I am the reason you've become sick and if I were only to remove myself then you might have the chance to heal." Although he said this, he could not help being pulled toward her. His arms itched to hold her, to comfort her in her anger, to let her tears soak his shirt the way they had so many times since her diagnosis.

Darcy's gaze moved to the floor, for which Loki was glad. Her eyes burned with such heat, he thought she might burn him through if she stared at him much longer. The wood floor beneath their feet remained unscorched when Darcy finally looked back up. Thankfully, her anger had left her and she sincerely asked, "So," she started, pausing for words. "You made me sick?"

Loki let go of a breath he did know he had been holding, letting himself relax, though he was in no mood to be contented with the situation as it was. "That seems to be the general consensus of it, yes." It hurt him to admit so to her out loud. It was a worry he kept close to his chest. It ate away at him constantly, in much the same way the cancer ate away at Darcy. "Through my own research and information from others, it's the most obvious conclusion." He had read through countless articles online, at the library in medical journals, whatever he could get his hands on. It was never about looking for confirmation of what Barton had told him. Rather, he wanted something contradictory, something to tell him the marksman was wrong.

Darcy nodded, her fingers picking at the flap of the cardboard box, worrying the thick paper. "Obvious conclusion…" she repeated.

"Yes," he whispered.

Still digging at the box, Darcy asked, "And these 'others'? What'd they have to say about it?" Loki was fairly certain Darcy knew who had told him. He felt there was nothing wrong with telling her.

"That my travelling to different realms, through space, what have you, for these past years has essentially made me radioactive." Loki watched her face, to see the crush but it never came. She simply blinked. "It seems I am immune to the effects whereas Midgardians are not. Had I not insinuated myself into your life, you would be-" Loki swallowed passed the guilt that threatened to choke him, "-fine."

Again, she nodded. She left the box alone, folding her arms across her chest and cocking her hip to one side. The tails of the hand-painted satin kerchief she wore on her head caught in the crook of her arm, locking itself to her. With his eyes, Loki traced the shape of a pink chrysanthemum that curved over her temple and disappeared in the bound knot just behind her ear. This was her "just in case" scarf. She found it one afternoon before her treatments…just in case. They wandered the shops in Little Tokyo on a weekday afternoon. She said it felt like playing hooky, being out of the office so early in the day. But what good was being sick, she'd said, if you couldn't enjoy the day off from work.

"That what Clint said?"

He nodded. "More or less."

"You probably talked to Tony, too? Right?"

"Yes. He provided insight as well."

"And Bruce? What'd he say?"

Loki's eyes slowly drifted to Darcy's. He had no words. No excuse. Because he hadn't consulted Doctor Banner during the course of his research. Loki could only shake his head.

"You didn't ask him, did you?" Her chin tipped up, confident in her accusation. His only reply was a breath, rushing from him. Darcy's voice was clear and her annoyance chimed loudly in the small space of the apartment, "You mean, with all that research, all those people you talked to…and you didn't bother to ask DOCTOR Bruce Banner?" Her tone was mocking incredulousness and she splayed a hand over her heart, feigning shock and scandal.

He was lost again. He didn't know why he hadn't gone to the doctor. The one person they both knew, who would know more than the rest, and Loki simply hadn't sought his opinion. "I didn't think he would have any more insight than what I had already learned on my own," he replied weakly. He refused to tell himself it was because he feared the look in the doctor's eyes. That look that was in Barton's eyes and the same one he faintly saw in Natasha's, too. Their pity angered him. Whether it was for her or for him mattered little. He didn't want it nor, he suspected, would Darcy.

Darcy's shoulders dropped, exhaustion settling over her. "Well, I talked to Bruce, even if you didn't." There was a small look of shock on Loki's face, but Darcy ignored it. "He said, there's no way to be one-hundred percent sure it was from you. There would never really be any way to know. It'd just be an educated guess." She shrugged one shoulder. "Besides, he survived the biggest dose of radiation, like, ever and relatively speaking, he's fine."

"I would argue very much that he is not 'fine' nor are the latest additions to Earth's hero roster. I think you would find it most disagreeable to be suddenly turned into a human-shaped rock!" Loki was deflecting, trying to show Darcy the downside to her argument that Loki, had in fact, not been as thorough as he thought he had been.

"Don't make this about somebody else, Loki. This is about you turning chicken-shit on me because you can't deal." Her anger flared again and Darcy punctuated her accusations with a finger into his chest, a purple-glittered tip stabbing her anger at him. But Darcy was wrong. Loki could deal. He could deal with Darcy and her anger. It was preferable to sobs and tears. So, he held strong.

"I can very much 'deal' as you put it. But I will not be the end of you!" Emotion overtook him and he trembled to hide it. She'd shrunk, momentarily, at his outburst but recovered quickly. Loki knew that he'd get no reaction from Darcy by staying calm and collected. She wanted passion. He had always given her passion. So, he would show her his passion, one last time. "This," he said, cupping her head in his hands, the silk covering her head cool and smooth, "is my fault. And I will not stay here, silent, and watch you wither." He caught a tear, sliding down her cheek, with a thumb.

The rush and sudden halt of the last few minutes slammed into Darcy, crushing her. She was so very weary. Her life with Loki tumbled through her mind, flashes of moments so bright they blinded, their whiteness making her heart ache. Her hands filled themselves with Loki's shirt, the crisp cotton crushed in her fingers. She felt his arms wrap around her, pulling her in closer. His heartbeat echoed in her ear as she pressed herself against his chest. She heard his voice, deep and hollow from the inside, as if she were in a tunnel. "I am poison. If I don't go, you will die."

Her eyes hurt. Tears fought for release. There was a warm rush as she let them finally fall. She sighed. "If you go, I'll die."

Green eyes looked up, begging. Would that being that could see all within the universe would look down and see them and open a path so that this suffering could be over. Loki could not say his name, could not call. But in his head he screamed it. Screamed to see that swirling prism of color. Screamed to see the streak of stars as they flew by, onward to a destination of gold. But all Loki saw was white plaster.

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_**A/N: **This feels really jumpy and kinda all over without explaining shit and I don't like it. I DO like not explaining things...I like making readers think...I like being made to think when I read but I think I missed a mark with this. I think it's the dialogue. Me no likey. But I'm sick of looking at it...sick of it sitting here and sick that you guys can't read it if I don't post it. So, have at it. Annnnnd...only 2 chapters left. Are you excited? I am._


	7. Chapter 7

She was beautiful. A porcelain goddess with eyes like a cloudless autumn sky. Her pink tongue slipped out between her raw, red lips. Lips he had crushed only moments before. Those lips drew back in a lusty grin and those cloudless autumn skies stared right through him. Darcy tossed her head back, but no chocolate curls followed. Those wouldn't be back for a while still. But they were on their way.

Loki jerked his hips up and Darcy returned her gaze down to him. She rocked slowly, back and forth, keeping the motion rhythmic, and Loki let himself become entranced by her spell. She moved with a deliberate freedom. This was her way now, more so than it had ever been. Before, there would be a pause; a consideration of what would follow if she spoke or acted in a way contrary to those around her. Though many thought Darcy had no "filter" as she often called it, Loki could always see that fractional moment of hesitation.

But now? Now, she was blatant in her disregard of propriety when it was her enjoyment that was in question. She felt, and Loki felt, too, that she had earned that much. Not that he would have denied her, cancer or not. It was that natural desire of his to witness chaos in the making. And while Darcy was no deity in that respect, when she smilingly upset a few apple carts, Loki couldn't help but feel proud.

Her raking nails brought his attention back and Loki hissed with pleasure. Darcy ground against him, a hard forceful motion, biting her bottom lip with the increasing pressure. Her moans escaped through closed lips and increased with every move. The luxury of their joining spread a warmth through Loki and he fought to keep his climax at bay. By now, Darcy was outright fucking him, bracing herself over him, her breath ragged through gritted teeth, puffing on his bare chest. He held her tight against his pelvis, bucking up as she ground down. Loki felt Darcy's body begin to tense, her thighs gripped his hips, her forehead pressed into his chest, a throaty cry ratcheting higher as she rocked harder and harder. Then she seized, her body squeezing his cock, clutching and squeezing until she was finished. Loki let go, trying to deepen his thrust, pushing further into her, releasing himself into her body.

Panting, they were motionless for long seconds, letting the rush melt away. It was replaced with contentment and Darcy let her tired arms give way as she settled on top of Loki's long form, their bodies still joined. A salty breeze through the open window cooled the sticky sweat on their skin. Loki let a hand trail up and down Darcy's back while she hummed against him. He felt her stirring and when her mouth found his, he took the moment for a distraction and rolled, lazily pinning Darcy beneath his body. He dragged wet, sloppy kissing down her neck, over her collarbone and lingered on the swell of one breast. She tasted like the sea, where they had spent their morning bathing in the surf, here on this island paradise.

Though he had claimed release, Loki still maintained his firmness and slowly pulled out, then pushed back into Darcy. She squirmed in discomfort and furrowed her brow at him. He captured her mouth again, a firm press of lips, to apologize for his eagerness. He knew she would not be ready again so soon, but he found it difficult to part from her when she made him feel this way.

She was warm and soft. No more hard, sharp angles as when she was ill in bed, half wasted away from not being able to eat. Her scent now was a mixture of salt and sex and sweet spice. Not medicinal and sterile and sick. And he could not bear to be out of her company, for the most wrenching of reasons, the reason that griped his chest in the most painful way; she was alive. Still and always. She had never let the end come within reach of her. But she had come close. And it was that proximity to losing her that forged some ancient need to keep her close to his heart. There was a word he knew, acutely knew, but had yet to use with regard to Darcy.

Love.

It was not that he was unfamiliar with the feeling or was unsure of it. He was more worried of her reaction to it. She might laugh or shy away. She might call it petty and fleeting. But there was also a small shimmer, a small ember of something in her eyes. He could never be sure what it was, so he kept the word to himself, pushing down that need to say the word to her, to make her understand his need to tell her. There, deep down, it would grow and infect him in the way hatred never did. Love frightened him and made him soar and whispered horrible things to him as he watched over her during those long sick days and nights. Love haunted him with pale blue eyes and chestnut waves. Love soothed him with sighs and sweat and murmurs of forever.

Carefully, Loki pulled himself away from Darcy with one last kiss buried in her short hair. She stroked the side of his face, with _that look,_ that infant light in her eyes, before moving from the bed. He watched her bound across the room, disappearing into the other room to wash up.

Loki lay back and stretched, his eyes taking in the thatch and sticks above them. The glitter of the water reflected up through the pane-less window, making ripples dance on the ceiling. When the doctor had finally uttered the word, remission, Loki told Darcy to pick a place, any place, any realm, anywhere where they could go and simply enjoy each other. No more doctor's offices and hospitals. No more needles and tests. No more pity, no more anger in everyone's eyes. No more cancer.

The magazine photograph she had shown him was well-worn. The edges of the page white and curling, fold lines creasing the picture. In it, a hut of wood and reeds sat above a sparkling blue ocean. The solitude implied was perfect. But Darcy had one caveat, knowing Loki would want to whisk them away as soon as possible. She wanted the experience of it all. The travel, the luxury, the over-the-top of needing nothing but wanting everything. And that was a request easily filled.

It was later, during the long, crawling 11-hour flight to the islands that Loki found out why, exactly, Darcy wanted to fly instead of magically transport. When she whispered in his ear and trailed a hand over his thigh as she got up to go to the impossibly small restroom during the flight that he felt that rush of heat between his legs. And it was her teeth biting that plump bottom lip that as she closed the lavatory door that made his cock hard. Afterwards, he almost felt sorry that the intangible double in his seat could not have witness their carnal act.

Loki closed his eyes against the noon light that was easily finding its way in. He heard Darcy rustling about their hut, the clink of silverware against china. The bed dipped and he cracked an eye to see her sitting next to him, her bare form silhouetted against the light. In her hand was a plate, leftovers from their morning meal that she picked from, the fruit dripping and sweet. Knowing full well that he was watching, Darcy set a piece of fruit on her tongue and closed her mouth around her fingers. With closed eyes she slowly and obscenely dragged her fingers out, sucking them free of the juice.

Darcy's erotic display was interrupted by a shrill electronic sound and the couple groaned in unison. Darcy set her plate on the table beside the bed while Loki got up to hunt down the offending cell phone. He found it under Darcy's slightly damp swimsuit cover-up that had earlier been dropped by the front door. He tossed it to her and continued on to the bathroom.

Knowing the call was most likely from a friend state-side, Loki decided to wash up, giving Darcy a chance to rest her body. His own he willed into calming with the hope that Darcy would treat him like the fruit she had been eating.

When Loki reentered the main room, he saw that Darcy had wrapped herself in a sheet from the bed and she sat to look out the window, the phone still pressed to her ear. She nodded and murmured as he stretched out behind her, a lazy hand draped near her bottom. A promise to call when she returned home and a quiet good-bye finished the call and Darcy set the phone on the table.

Darcy was still as Loki's knuckles brushed against her softly. He was about to ask if she'd cleaned herself of all that sticky fruit juice when, suddenly, she turned to lie next to him, wrapping herself tightly against his side. Automatically, his arms went around her. She curled tighter into him and he brushed a hand down the side of her face. When she didn't look up, a tingle of worry stabbed at him. When she finally spoke, it was all he could do to hear her over the rush of his own breathing in his ears. Their balmy paradise was now too bright and too warm, the lapping of the water below them, too loud. A familiar and unwelcome cold had settled over them, darkening their happy skies.

It was back.

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_**A/N:** OMG, you guys! The next chapter is the last one! FYI, in case it's not clear (because I don't think it is) the chronological order for the chapters is 2-7, 1, 8. But I dig the bookend thing so...there you have it. _


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